i grew up with the majority of my classmates being african american.  that means i saw braided hair, poofy pony tails, beads that clicked when the walked or turned their heads…and i wanted it.  instead i had long, thin, slippery, fine hair.  my technique was to put “grease” in my hair.  baby oil.  all i remember is that the next morning my mom gently explained to me that the brush and pillowcase had to be thrown away.

i don’t think i’ve ever told that story to eliza.  which is why i was surprised to see her head look especially shiny one morning.  yup.  baby oil.

like a duck from the oil spill in the 90s, we tried to cut the oil with dawn.  nope.

dr bronners?  nope.  three days of steady washing with any soap we had and it eventually came out.

cedar balls and my favorite cup added intrigue to the many baths.

yes, choking hazard.

i never figured out her reasoning.

p.s.  yes, this is our upstairs bathroom covered in muslin.  not a long term solution, but much nicer than cracked and peeling plaster in the meantime.